


In the Chill of the Night

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya couldn't understand what was wrong with him and why was he suddenly smoking?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Chill of the Night

There was something about Illya.  Napoleon had noticed it almost from the moment Illya stumbled into their hotel room.  His skin was chalky and flat looking.  Napoleon didn’t know how else to describe it.  It was as if his three-dimensional partner had gone suddenly two-dimensional.  Napoleon tossed the book he’d been reading down onto his bed and watched as Illya shuffled about the room.  It was as if he was looking for something.

“Illya, what’s wrong?”  Napoleon sat up and continued to study Illya.  He was at the door leading to their balcony, his fingers splayed across the glass as if he had lost the concept of what it was and why he couldn’t walk through it.  “Partner?”

Illya turned to him and Napoleon tried to keep the shock from his face.  Illya’s jaw was slack and his eyes staring.  He was so very gaunt that he looked more dead than alive.  It made him seem impossibly young.  He looked much like he did when he got off the plane the first time in New York.  Then he looked like a bag of skin and bones, much to Napoleon’s dismay.  It wasn’t until a work out in the gym that Napoleon discovered Illya was very strong indeed.  He was thin, but certainly not weak.

Napoleon was off the bed and halfway across the room, even as Illya was pressing back against the door.

“Illya, be careful.  Too much pressure and the glass will break.”

“Yesss…”  Illya turned lazily back to the glass and began to pound on it, as if frantic to escape, but too tired to put up much of an effort.  This was all very odd behavior and Napoleon was determined to get to the source.

“Illya, what’s wrong?”  

“Go… away… now!”  The command came out as a half-strangled groan.

“ Illya, please tell me what’s going on?”

“Hungry…”  Illya faced him again and his expression had changed from bland to something very different, something disturbing.  He took a halting step towards Napoleon.

Napoleon laughed.  “Since when is that news?  I can call for room service or…”  He trailed off as Illya began to advance upon him, reaching for him.  “Illya…?”

“Run!” Illya choked out even as he advanced.

“No!  Whatever is wrong, Illya, we’ll face it together.  We are partners.  That’s what partners do…”  Illya’s backhanded blow caught Napoleon by surprise and he was propelled back against the wall.  His head smashed against the wood paneling and, for a moment, he was dazed.  Napoleon blinked to clear his vision, and then a searing pain shot up his arm.  

His eyes widened as he realized Illya was chewing a mouthful of Napoleon’s…

With a yell, Napoleon sat upright in bed.  A moment later the overhead light came on.

Illya was standing there, a robe loosely knotted closed, his glasses still resting on his nose.  “What’s wrong?”

Those words, so achingly familiar, made Napoleon shudder in memory.   “A… a dream… nightmare…” 

“I warned you about eating Thai food this late at night.  I was reading in the living room when I heard you yell.” 

 “Why aren’t you in bed?”  Napoleon glanced at the left side of the bed, its pillows still plumped...

“Still on Australian time, I guess,” Illya replied.  “The older I get, the longer it takes to reset my internal clock.  Is your arm hurting much?”  Illya looked down at Napoleon’s bandaged forearm.  “You can have a pain pill now if you need one.” 

Napoleon took a deep breath, listening as his heart started to calm.  He turned on his bedside lamp and took a deep swallow of water.  The images and the pain were still very real. He looked at the bandage, puzzled at first by the injury, and then he remembered the Innocent.  They were cornered, surrounded by a pack of wolves.  A wolf attacked and he put up his arm to protect her.  It had only been Mark’s timely arrival that kept Napoleon and his charge from being ripped to shreds.  “No, it’s sore, but I’m okay.”

 “You are just lucky those wolves all tested negative for rabies or you would be suffering through a very different night in Medical.” Illya pulled off his robe, exposing bandages of his own.  It had been a rough week for both of them.  Now they were home, safe and mostly sound.  

Napoleon leaned back against his pillows and stared up at the ceiling.  He jumped when Illya stroked his cheek softly.   Then he looked over and groaned at the vacant eyes staring back at him.  He didn’t even scream this time… immediately.

Napoleon let out a yell and Illya was out of bed with a gun in his hand.

Napoleon cursed beneath his breath and clicked on the light.  “Sorry…”

“Cost of the trade.”   Nightmares were nothing new to either of them.  Illya pandiculated before stuffing the gun back under the pillow.  Stretching again, he walked to the bathroom, scratching his stomach absently.

Napoleon paused and listened for a moment.  The city was far below the penthouse and the noise never quite got up this high.  He heard the toilet flush and the taps running for a minute.  

Illya appeared in the doorway for a moment, holding a bottle of something.  “You want a rubdown?” 

It was their standard procedure after just such an event.  The feeling of the other’s hands against skin always pushed the darker images aside.  Napoleon nodded and Illya clicked off the light.

“You’re not going to start eating me, are you?” Napoleon asked as Illya’s darkened form approached the bed.  He lay down and rolled over.

“I beg your pardon?”  Illya sat beside him, a towel over one shoulder, and opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol.  “I thought we took care of that earlier this evening.”

Napoleon gasped as a splash of alcohol hit his overheated skin, immediately followed by a familiarly calloused hand.  Whatever comeback he had thought up slipped from his mind as Illya’s fingers worked their way across his back.  He was barely conscious by the time Illya got to his waist.   Sleep settled in beside Napoleon, luring him back into slumber.

 Napoleon felt the bed shift as Illya tucked himself back in.  An arm settled comfortably over him and, comforted, Napoleon slept, knowing the zombies would be kept at bay now…he hoped.

 


End file.
